


Hell In A Liquor Store

by SweetPrincessRenee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPrincessRenee/pseuds/SweetPrincessRenee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg catches Castiel at the liquor store and takes advantage of him. Castiel is hurting-Meg is devious. Cas/Meg. Please review if you love it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell In A Liquor Store

What happened when Castiel found the liquor store? "I found a liquor store and I drank it!" Find out here!

Meg tosses back her head, laughter erupting from the pit of her stomach, shattering the quiet night. It is rakish, abrasive and cruelly twisted. "I am glad you are pleased." The voice is oily rich in phony sentiment and quiet respect, "I trust you will relay my success to the master." People pass by the dark alleyway. Their eyes straight ahead to a particular destination but sometimes they cast sidelong glances at the two figures nestled amongst the weaves of shadows and darkness.

The fleeting thoughts pass as slight as a feather, curiosity about the two women but then their bodies move forward, an unbidden fear pushing them forward. While their minds couldn't place it, their bodies reacted to the tendrils of ominous frigidness with an undercurrent of..evil.

"Will you tell him?" She presses rather brazenly, "Meg, Will you address him on the work of his most faithful." Eyes vibrant with wickedness, hinting at resentment. The serpentine quality held a quiet referral to Meg's pertinent role.

Meg Masters tilts her head, regarding the other creature with a cool, arrogant demeanor, eyes openly denigrating. 'The whore may have risen with Lucifer but it didn't mean she had the same access that the higher-level demons had or the same privileges.

"I might be inclined to drop some notices into the discussion. But lets be honest-" "You know we can't!" The whore mutters under her breath, the sound petulantly childish. It deepened the slash of a sneer on Meg's face to a grin. "Father is so busy with raising the apocalypse and the horsemen that the idea he would be 'interested' in a couple of whores damming souls-would be remote." By professional courtesy, Meg could discern the warped visage of the whore of Babylon and she could pick up on the festering anticipation. "He probably already knows!" She amends, the whores ranked up pretty high with the devil not as high as her and her first-class demon brethren but still.. "And he will reward you when it is time." Meg's shoulders shrugs as she flashes her signature crocodile smile, one that effectively ends the conversation.

The pretty brunette's face appears sunken but conceding rather unwillingly. Retracting her steps, the shadows swallow the human figurine. Meg sniggers, pleased with herself. It satisfies the agitated being inside the scarred body, almost, her importance is still wide spread. Meg Masters is still considered a liaison to the powerful entity of all that is evil. A tune on her lips, she emerges from the sinister space of the alleyway. Smirking nastily, she decides to take a leisurely walk through the slumbering town, toying with the idea of sneaking into someone's house and butchering the family. It would throw the entire town into a panic and there was nothing funnier to demons than panicked humans, running around on pant-shitting fear.

Meg staggers backwards as the air thickened to a viscous danger that slams into her like a freight train. Demons usually were inured to fear except in special instances like right now. There was an angel nearby. Fear like annealed metal trickles into Meg's body. However, her senses were sharp enough to distinguish a difference in the angelic aura, while it was strong in the first punch; it lost its groove the second time and slowly dimes to a small annoyance.

Meg brightens at the idea that forms in her head. It is too good an opportunity to pass up. The sign reads, 'Danny's liquor store' in dull neon. There is only one washed-up, damaged angel she could think of that needed to drown his sorrows in barrels of liquor. Stepping into the darkness, her delight increases manifold as she perceives the self-righteous prick, because of whom she was thrown into her Father's bad graces. Eyes were almost milky white, a remote and shuttered expression, body was strewn across the floor surrounded by empty liquor bottles.

The alcohol in his body had induced a heavy, haze-filled high. He was in such a weakened state, there was no hope to sustain his grace or an ounce of angel ethereal spirit in his little damaged body that had taken a beating from the liquor. A chuckle descended from lips, poisonous and malevolent. The darkness swirled, like it was alive, and sucked away the burning light of the lamps as her presence in the depilated place commands it. It reverberates in the closeted space, the crackling of broken glass and incessant crushing beat of deadly desire. Briefly, his eyes flicker in the direction of the noise and his head languidly raises as her footsteps drew closer. Stiff chin drooping to his chest.

"Who is there?" The words slurring in the confines of his mouth. Meg's grin widens to a broad, demonic smile that warps her facile into hellish depravity. "Just me!" It sang from her lips. "Demon!" Immediately, tension like a wave stiffens his body but it fell loose again before he could draw a protective, more imposing stance. "Not just any demon!" Laughter, crass and scornful ringing in her words, "Just your favourite demon or did you forget me after our little moment together!" Eyelids flutter vainly like an injured bird, he tries to arouse himself into alertness but fails miserably-No-he is miserable. A miserable, pathetic figure. "Meg!" There was more urgency in his movements now but they are halted when Meg shoved a foot onto his chest, trapping him under her weight.

"What happened? Does Daddy not love you anymore?" A patronizing smirk blaring at him from above. He struggles to force a response through his lips that carry sufficient strength but he only succeeds in raising the bile from the back of his throat, burning and foul-tasting. She smirks, sickeningly confident; it causes his stomach to plunge into a spiral of sickness and nausea. She lowers herself, levelling him with a gaze of happy derision, eyes shinning of like black marbles. His vision swamp in and out of consciousness, the bar behind her was blurred but the horrendous of her facile was horribly full in clarity.

"You have no powers, no belief-just some half-assed adages Dean Winchester feeds you from mixing stale fortune cookies and beer!" Meg's face is inches from his own and through his disgust and queasiness that clouds his senses, he can smell her, the sweet scent of soap and vanilla, almost disguising the stench of sulphur. Nevertheless, it penetrates like a punch to the gut and he is in trouble of being violently ill, spinning from her close proximity that promises a nasty surprise. "Leave here! Meg" Stumbling over his strong words, "Or your death will be swift…like a chariot!"

Hungrily, Castiel sucks in air, hoping it will steady the volcano in his stomach. Meg tosses back her head and laughs, an ugly, throaty sound of nails on a chalkboard meant to cut right into Castiel. It succeeds; he feels the bone-biting chill right through his vessel. Winching, as the painful reminder struck him. She couldn't know the depth of his hopelessness but her words have the smashing effect as if she is attuned to his feelings. Her hand grabs his chin in a vise like grip, eyes boring into his with the fierce focus of a mountain lion, eyeing its prey.

"Castiel!" Letting the name slither from her lips, poisonous and dripping with sultry contempt. "The reason you are here is because you are obviously impotent-and useless and you're no more daddy's little girl!" Smile is viciously radiant, all perfect white teeth and gleeful chuckling; He tries to move his head but it is fixated to her eyes, hardened to malicious intent. Vainly, Castiel tries to slough off the layers of wretched despair; it only made her wicked mirth more agonizing to tolerate. Pushing her away, he began his weak attempt to support himself on his own two unsteady feet. She was faster with the speed and precision of a cobra, fangs bared. Meg's mouth slams down on his, invading and conquering with her hot tongue. She took exceptional delight in the tart taste of him, shattered hopes and pitiful desperation. Someone had served her a bountiful plate catered to her palate. Inwardly, she chuckles with delight as her lips work on his unwilling mouth.

Initially, Castiel displays maidenly indignation, struggling to break the bind on him. Horror like a tidal waves washes over him, burying him in half-formed realizations and the bitter truth. He capitulates, allowing himself to be swallowed by the fiery kiss. The moans fluttering between them ring of damnation and tainted lust. Hands trembling, he runs them up her side to settle over her breasts, squeezing mercilessly until she squeals. It stops her for a brief second. The time he needs to stop the spiraling descent into complete hopelessness, to escape from the monstrosity of hell.

Hell hasn't claimed him yet but if he was to concede-She is on him, straddling him before he can react. Breathe like scorching lava washing over him. He swallows hard as she descends upon him again, deepening the kiss. He releases a muffled moan as she nips at his bottom lip, rolling it between her teeth before dipping her tongue into warm cavern, licking the droplets of alcohol. Castiel finds himself further lost in the whirlpool of sensations, a deadly combination of tangy bitterness and Meg, the vile-blistering demon.

She sucks a trail of fire from his chin to a vein, hammering under the skin of his neck. Sinking her teeth into the soft flesh until she finds the bruise satisfactory. The pain explodes like a solar flare. She might as well have torn into flesh, but he is beyond care. His father had abandoned him, forsaken him, so he abandons himself. Meg reignites the kiss with unbridled determination, he responds.

A small detached part in the back of his head screams reprisals. Involuntary sounds of pleasure burst from his constricting throat and the sourness in mouth, like acid leaches into his veins. Her clothed maidenhood presses down on the hardness trapped in his pants, rubbing furiously. The friction like an inferno between them, threatening to burn him alive from the inside out.

A drawn-out hiss from his lips responds to the incessant tugging at his belt. It was too late to stop-the world that supports his existence seems lost, but he wasn't going to assist the degradation of his grace by undressing for the demon. Unfortunately, Meg was more than adept at dealing with unhelpful males. It was a sharp yank and before Castiel could blink or gather his thoughts, his pants were gathered rather abruptly around his ankles. Castiel stayed her movement by suspending her in midair, mightily with shaking hands.

"Meg!" Cringing when the crackle in his voice sounded dismally submissive, "Please!" Meg's forehead was slick with sweat, eyes glowing like a shrouded sun, whose intensity was barely restrained. Imperious disdain reverberates in the hoarse chuckles that play on her teeth, silvery in the moonlight. Icy grief weaves through the length of his spine; shoulders slump in defeat, a convoluted curtain of deviousness falls over his face.

Fingers entangle in his hair, jerking his eyes onto hers to see the depth of his downfall. The world of righteous and faith was in his eyes, now all he has is a small resistance, which soon crumbles like a fault line. He is inside her and it is shredding him apart because she, a demon, is not supposed to fell soft-pliable, the sweet heat of hers is not meant to be a perverted sort of comfort. Gritting his teeth, he moves inside her, clumsily with no direct motion.

The little pleasure he absorbs over the roar of self-recrimination that thrums ceaselessly against his cranium. His sad grasp at some enjoyment is cut short when he notices Meg's lips fall into an angry line, seething disappointingly. Castile's cheeks flush under the quiet stare, as if he was a private joke but she wasn't laughing openly, simply to torture him some more. Suddenly, a lewd grin breaks the surface of her mask, eyes glinting with dishonorable intent like the toxic liquids he had consumed, their golden light refracting illicit temptation.

"Don't worry, baby!" Viciousness seeps clear in her glare for a few seconds. His breath hitches in his throat, lead convalesces in his stomach, and then an icy calmness descends on his expression as a frigid, cutting sneer stretches her lips. "I will take good care of you." "You are not even worthy of your own master!" He chokes out, in a sudden plunge into bravery. An eyebrow arches in curious amusement. She fists him, working him steadily. His eyes roll in the back of his head, retorting with a grunt.

She laughs humorlessly and it fills his ears with cackling static. "You are just so much fun to play with, Castiel!" Pronouncing his name with a dark sugary-lethal edge. It curdles his blood, he is not worthy of his angelic name. Letting the demonic creature to massage, pull and tease him with her expert hands. Meg watches with exhilaration the flicker of pleasure contorting his face, excitement growing inside her for the main event. He is a sight to behold. The usual prim and proper heavenly angel with smoldering eyes of contained sexuality, falling to pieces under her expert hand. Arousal stretches her muscles taut and stirs the liquid lust between her legs.

She is utterly wet and wanting when she mounts him. A weak cry of refusal from him but he is silenced with her tongue tracing the rim of his mouth, mockingly. Meg rides him hard, ensuring every inch of her compacts around the entire girth of him. His fingers will surely leave marks on her hips, gripping her with such need. The keeling sound at the back of his throat sends delicious vibrations through her core. The sense of victory further spices the whole experience; she throws her head backwards, a frenzied screech conveying her animalistic pleasure.

Too caught up in her morbid passion, she misses the flash of rage that twists his visage to cruelly intent. He flips her, ignoring the protests that rain against his actions. He reduces her to moaning and writhing under him with rough, powerful thrusts. Through the fierce coupling, she could differentiate the shadow of the man, desecrated and alone. Her hands clench his strong forearms in an iron grip as he pounds into her, curses spilling in semi-crazed tone. Electricity wrings their bodies taut as heat pools in their stomach. They are close.

He empties inside her with a roaring sound tearing from his throat. A sharp intake of breath and then he pushes himself off her. The sting of liquor and regret drilling into his numb body with a thousand needles. Turning away from her, he concentrates on pulling on his clothes, knowing a triumphant smile lights her face and it burns into his back. "Well that was fun!" Her voice deceptively flippant. Meg brushes her hair over her shoulder, eyes on the angel as she drags her own clothes on her body, "I never knew a fallen angel could taste so good!" Shame taints his face sunken and ashen. He makes the mistake of glancing up, catching her licking her lips enticingly. It hits him like a punch to the gut, what he has done. Breath leaves him replaced by a hollow, embittered feeling that slowly begins to corrode his essence. "Call me! If you decide to have another break-down." Whispers in cool, deriding tones with an undercurrent of scalding seductiveness.

Castiel's face convulses, tears starting at the corner of his eyes. She leaves as silently and disruptively as she had entered. Castiel falls back on his haunches and tries to make sense of the world that is still obscure and bleak. The alcohol may have diminished his inhibitions for a few torturous moments, but the tumult in his gut reminds him that he couldn't escape what he been reduced to-the self-recrimination awaited on a precipice to swallow him-decimated grace and all.. A crippling wave of coldness crept over his skin and dried out his mouth with an acrid, dismal taste. Tears cling stubbornly to his cheeks, weeping for the death of his innocence.

Please review! It means you love it.


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